


Mal and the Rhinos

by wheel_pen



Series: Viridian Mal [41]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fish out of Water, Gen, Imprinting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trip narrates Mal’s adventure with some rhinoceros-like aliens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mal and the Rhinos

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Viridians appear human, but are actually aliens who imprint on other people (Viridian or otherwise) and form a bond with them. They also live their entire life cycle in about six Earth years.
> 
> 2\. In each series, a different character is a Viridian, who was raised by mean Klingons on an outpost. An Enterprise crewmember is captured by the Klingons and they inadvertently form a bond with the Viridian, who helps them escape. Then they return to rescue the Viridian and bring them aboard the Enterprise. The Viridian homeworld is contacted and the Enterprise crew learn the Viridian will most likely die if they are sent away. So they end up staying on the Enterprise, and the crewmember has to adjust.
> 
> 3\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

It's an ordinary day in Engineering when I get the call. " _Senior staff briefing in twenty minutes, Trip,_ " Jon chirps over the comm, and Jon never chirps unless we're meeting a new alien species he can't get enough of. " _Might make some new friends, if we can repair their ship_."

"Count me in, sir!" I tell him heartily. Not that I would ever, ever wish for something bad to happen just to alleviate boredom, and not that I'm ever, ever disappointed to discover that things in Engineering are running perfectly... but without challenges a fella can get kinda complacent, you know?

I run through one more diagnostics check, just so I can positively tell the Captain that everything is going smoothly should he ask, then I head on up to the Bridge. I haven't gotten far from Engineering when I realize I'm being followed.

"It's a senior staff briefing, Mal," I remind my little shadow. "You're gonna be bored. And—you're not senior staff."

"Can't I come with you?" he whines. "I'll be very quiet. You won't even notice me."

I've been slowly—slowly—gettin' used to him over the last few months, but he's a moody little thing. Today he's been real clingy, always wantin' to hang over my shoulder instead of running errands or working away in an access tube. I think maybe he had a bad dream last night, when I was working late on the specs for some upgrades, but I can't get him to admit it. Anyway, now he's stuck to my tail like mud on a pig and I can't shake him by the time I reach the lift for the Bridge. I figure what the h—l, Jon didn't sound like it was anything too serious, hopefully he won't mind Mal taggin' along. Be easier than tryin' to send him back to Engineering, anyway.

Jon raises an eyebrow when he sees Mal doggin' me to the back of the Bridge and I kind of roll my eyes to tell him I don't like it much either. Jon and I do have a nice system of non-verbal communication set up that comes in handy sometimes.

The moment I stop on the Bridge, in the midst of the senior staff, Mal drops to his knees beside me. He likes to do that in public. I guess it's some kinda show of respect or subservience drilled into him by the Klingons; he's more comfortable on his knees than sitting on a chair or couch. That being said, I still think it looks kinda obscene, at best like I'm oppressin' him or something. Not exactly the image I want to project. Immediately my hand goes to the back of his pullover and I haul him back up, trying to be discreet. The others pretend not to notice, bless them.

Jon starts telling us about this alien ship that contacted us not too long ago. Apparently there's some problem with their engines and they'd like to dock with us so someone—namely me—can check under their hood. Now, I sure don't mind gettin' the chance to see the engines of an alien vessel; but sometimes I get to feeling like _Enterprise_ is a giant floating repair shop, you know? There's gonna be all these alien cultures out there that think humans are nothing more than altruistic mechanics--and we don't have an infinite supply of repair parts after all. Fortunately this time Jon mentions that the aliens in question have some spare dilithium lying around that they'd be more than happy to trade for any services rendered, so at least we're getting something useful out of the deal.

Jon goes through each of the senior staff, getting their take on the scant info we have right now. I'm half listening, half thinking through what kind of repairs they'll probably need and what kind of equipment I should take with me. Because _I'm_ the one going over to their ship, no question about it. That's one of the perks of bein' the Chief Engineer.

Suddenly I realize Mal's not standing beside me anymore and I try to look around for him without drawing too much attention. There he is, on his knees again, at the back of the group beside Hoshi. He likes Hoshi because she thinks he's cute and funny, and she'll pet him when no one else will. Right now she's kind of absently scratching the back of his head as she goes over her translation, and he's in heaven.

I suppose I should be glad she pays attention to him so I don't have to, but it irritates me instead. He feels it right away and his blue-grey eyes snap open. For a moment he hesitates, just long enough to show me he thought about staying where he is, then he quickly crawls away from her back to my side. I'm sure as h—l not going to pet him on the Bridge, though. I'm just hoping no one else, like Jon or T'Pol, caught this little warped domestic drama.

"From the specs they sent, it doesn't look too far off our own technology," I report when it's my turn. "Are you sure you got the dimensions right, Hoshi?" Immaturely I want to poke at her a little for paying attention to Mal when I wouldn't. "This is the hugest engine I've ever heard of, twice as big as ours at least, especially for only going warp three."

Hoshi shrugs. "That's what they gave me, Commander. We worked it out using the standard conversion matrix." Oh well, fine then.

"I think Commander Tucker should take a security contingent along with him," Marcus suggests when the Captain comes around to him. Of course he does. He'd have a security contingent follow all of us to the bathroom, if he could.

As usual the Captain starts to negotiate him down. "I think a whole contingent is going a little far. I'm sure Trip will be fine on his own."

"Three people," Marcus counters.

"We don't even know what kind of ship we're dealing with here," Archer tells him. "They could have very little space, a lengthy decompression procedure..."

"Me and an ensign."

"Maybe just the ensign," Jon says speculatively. "I'll have to wait until we meet them." Marcus looks peeved but he can't exactly do anything about it, can he?

Then a little voice pops up from somewhere near my groin, kind of British-accented to the untrained ear. "Um, I think that maybe, um, _I_ should go. With Trip. On the ship."

Several people lean over the table, trying to see Mal there on the floor. I want to tell him to shut up and go home, and his look tells me he knows that, but it would be pretty rude of me to do that in front of the Captain and the other Bridge officers. Mal would get all the sympathy anyway, he always does.

"I could be, erm, security _and_ help with the repairs, a bit," he adds, a little flustered. Mal hates talking in front of people. Truth be known, Mal is about the biggest scaredy-cat I've ever met. He's afraid of new people, new places, the water, crowds, movies that have any kind of scariness in them even if they're completely lame—he's even scared of _Porthos_. Of course, if you were one of the hostile aliens who'd gotten your a-s beaten and handed to you by Mal--on a platter tied up with a little bow, no less—you probably wouldn't believe me when I say this, but most of the time, it's true. He sure as h—l doesn't like goin' on alien ships.

So now Jon's looking at me, asking me what I think. I mean, Marcus's guys are good, don't get me wrong—they're the best. But Mal is something—special. He's a _fanatic_ about protecting me. It's like embedded in his brain at this point. If I were to encounter hostilities on a ship full of, I don't know, rhinoceroses with opposable thumbs and armor plating that deflects energy weapons, Mal's the only fella I'd want by my side—he can be a tenacious little hellion when he gets worked up, _and_ he can sense the danger comin' from afar. So he's kind of this weird combination of freaked-out fusspot and berserker warrior, at least about _me_. Which I gotta admit makes me feel a _little_ superior sometimes. Just a little.

"Well, I guess he could come in handy, at that," I finally tell Jon, and he knows I wouldn't say that unless it were true. Mal's thrilled, I can tell, because he starts tugging on my pants cuff, which is as close as he can get to petting _me_ in public, per my explicit instructions. I let him do it about twice, then give him the glare of death and he stops. He's gonna hug me if we end up in the lift alone. I won't mind that so much; it's if he does it when we're _not_ alone that I'll object. Hey, I'm an affectionate sort of guy, but it's weird enough having him tag along behind me all the time. It's just not professional to have someone comin' around hugging and petting you during the day. This is a lesson I'm always drillin' into his head, 'cause frankly he's got no respect for personal boundaries. Especially mine. "Anyway, what are these people like? Any ideas?"

Jon gleefully brings a picture up on the monitor on the table. I have to get closer to see it properly and while Mal moves away from _me_ easily enough, other crewmembers aren't so lucky and come up short before him. "Would you get out of the way?" I hiss at him. Always underfoot, that one.

Finally I get a good look at our potential new friends. I try not to let my jaw drop like a first-year cadet in his Introduction to Xenobiology class, but—there's two big horns protruding from this guy's face, one about where the nose should be and another smaller one in the middle of his forehead. Kind of rhinoceros-like.

"They must have developed opposable thumbs in order to manipulate the equipment they use," observes T'Pol in her scientist tone.

"Hmm, look at that armor plating," Marcus muses. "I wonder if it would be impervious to energy weapons."

Suddenly I'm kinda glad Mal _is_ going with me, after all. I give his head a nice pat under the table, where no one can see me, and remind myself to be a little nicer to him this afternoon.

 

As far as aliens go, the Ceratos aren't so bad. Ugly as all get out, but then again that's just my human sensibilities talking. They probably think _I'm_ pretty ugly, too, or at least they would if they could see me better—vision isn't their strongest sense. Workin' on their ship's been a real challenge, but one I kinda enjoy. Their senses of hearing and smell are superior, so that's how they've got things marked on their ship—instead of color-coding, or even warning signs, they have noises and smells. Pretty freaky at first but it makes me feel d—n good when I finally figure something out. 'Course you also have to figure that because the Ceratos are about twice as big as humans, most things on their ship are twice as big, too. Or bigger—they may have those opposable thumbs but not a lot of fine motor control. So try, if you can, to imagine a ship full of big, boxy equipment all about the same color that makes noises of increasingly higher pitch when the numbers go up, or releases a putrid smell when you've done something wrong. I could mess with this stuff for weeks.

Mal's good with it, too. I mighta known, I guess, since he's all the time complainin' about sounds and smells I can't detect anyway—he's the one who first picked up on the different noises their engine makes, when the Cerato engineer was havin' a tough time explaining it to me. And he hasn't been too nervous most of the time either—these Ceratos seem like pretty peaceful creatures to me. Even Marcus and his man gave up after the first couple days and went back to _Enterprise_ —of course that might have been because of some of the smells I inadvertently set off while tryin' to get my bearings.

The only weird thing is, Mal's been a little clumsy on this ship. Now, that wouldn't be at all odd for most people, includin' yours truly, but Mal is _definitely_ not the clumsy type. He's got a grace and agility that kinda reminds me of a cat sometimes—same skittishness, too, and that haughty attitude despite it all. Tuckers were always more dog people. But he keeps stumblin' over people on this ship—always d—n polite about it, "So sorry," and he hasn't really hurt anyone (we _are_ talkin' about rhinoceroses with opposable thumbs and armor plating here), but I've snapped at him a couple of times, just so our visitors won't think we're bein' rude and doin' it on purpose. I keep meaning to ask him about it, but I'm so dead tired at night, after spending hours sortin' out smells and sounds, I usually just eat some dinner then fall asleep.

It's our last day on the ship now. Everyone seems so pleased with the repairs we've made—well, of course they're pleased with the repairs, but they also seem to think humans are just fascinatin' creatures. "So small and dainty," their captain, G'r'nk, called me (you can imagine how much I appreciated that). And their chief engineer, B'sh'k, keeps marveling at the "delicate" work I've been doing on their circuits—I still feel like I'm manhandling stuff, workin' with chopsticks when I should have needles, but I guess to them I'm like one of those vendors in San Francisco who can write a word on a grain of rice.

Jon's standing in the hallway of the Cerato ship, looking absurdly small next to the airlock door and the computer consoles. There's not many environments that can dwarf Jonathan Archer, but this is one—and pretty funny, too, in my opinion. He and G'r'nk are exchanging good-bye-type pleasantries—hope we'll meet again, thanks for the dilithium, blah blah blah. I appreciate the sentiment, but really, my work here is done, you know? And Mal's gettin' all squirmy again—I think he's missed a meal or something. Honestly, sometimes he's like the most high-maintenance pet ever—one of those expensive pure-breeds that my aunties love, the kind that'll only eat filet mignon you've pureed for it.

"There _is_ one more thing we have to ask of you, Captain Ar'k'r," G'r'nk says.

Jon looks a little surprised. "Oh? What's that?"

"We have _so_ appreciated the services of your engineer, Mr. T'kr..." It's hard to tell facial expressions on these guys, but he seems to be looking at me speculatively. "We were wondering if you might be willing to part with him."

I don't wanna smirk, because that would be rude. I settle for looking a little surprised but also complimented while Jon slaps them down. "Well, that's very flattering," Jon tells them, "but I'm afraid Commander Tucker is needed here."

"Oh, but surely you have other engineers for your needs," G'r'nk goes on. He's a persistent bugger. "He would be such an asset to our ship—he can do so many things with the equipment that we cannot."

"I'm sorry," Jon says firmly. "It's out of the question."

We smile politely and turn to leave—only to find the airlock blocked by two giant rhinos. I can see the _aw s—t_ look on Jon's face—I'm sure I've got it on mine, too. I was hopin' we could end this First Contact on a _good_ note. "Of course we would be willing to trade for Mr. T'kr, Captain Ar'k'r," G'r'nk goes on. "We have more dilithium in stock, perhaps a few spare beams of tritanium..."

"Hey, I'm not for sale, okay?" I tell them, a little indignantly. Especially at _those_ prices.

Jon gives me a look that says, _Shut up, I'm handling this_. I give him one right back that says, _Well get on with it, d----t, before I end up a pet on a ship full of rhinos._ That's what I mean about non-verbal communication.

"Oh, please, T'kr," B'sh'k says, clapping his hands together. Which is just about the weirdest thing you can watch a ten-foot rhino do. "There's so much here that you could do. So much that you could learn!"

Yes, well, it would all be very tempting, if they were ridin' alongside us for a couple of weeks. But since they seem to want it to be a permanent thing—

"You can't have my Chief Engineer," Jon states, very commandingly. "That's final." He turns to the crewmembers blocking the airlock. "We'd like to return to our ship now." Unsurprisingly, they don't move.

"We have some other items you might find useful," G'r'nk insists. "Spare phase cannon, EPS modifier, a couple of plasma injectors..."

Hot d—n. I think I might sell _myself_ for a couple of spare plasma injectors. Luckily Jon's the one in charge and he doesn't understand how tough those are to find out here. If he were a better engineer I'd be in trouble.

"This is not negotiable," Jon informs them. "Commander Tucker is staying with _Enterprise_. Which is exactly where we're going." What a shock—the rhinos guarding the airlock aren't the least intimidated by Jon, even though he's put on his best look of determination.

"I don't think you understand how much we want to keep Mr. T'kr," G'r'nk says, and things are definitely takin' kind of a sinister turn. I mean, up 'til now you really coulda chalked it up to cultural misunderstanding—but I'm beginning to feel a little threatened now. These Ceratos have just been so friendly and peaceful, placid almost, that we're taken by surprise by this move. I mean, it's just me, the Captain, and Mal on their ship, no phase pistols (not that they woulda done any good anyway), no communicators even. Now granted this ship can only go warp three, so if they try to take off T'Pol will catch 'em right quick, but the firepower's about evenly matched between the two ships and the Ceratos, of course, have a much thicker hull plating. It's no sure bet we'd be rhino slaves forever... but also no sure bet we'd get rescued. Certainly not without a lot of damage on both sides.

I can see Jon tickin' through his options and comin' to the end of the list a whole lot quicker than he'd like to. He's gonna try more talkin'—well, what else can he do, really? He'll probably start the whole thing about free will and not bein' able to own another person, then move into future hostilities if he has to. I don't know if these guys'll buy that... They're intelligent in their way, of course, but I think _they_ think we're all kinda cute and funny-looking, you know? Not much of a threat overall. Small and dainty, as it were.

"B'sh'k, please take Mr. T'kr back to Engineering," G'r'nk commands, like he knows there's nothin' Jon or I can do to stop him. Which is probably true.

B'sh'k starts to reach for me, and believe me I'm not lookin' forward to tryin' to fight a ten-foot rhino—not to mention the fact that I was starting to like this guy. Fortunately, I had my secret weapon I'd forgotten about. The engineer doesn't get one thick, armor-plated hand on me before Mal jumps him—he's movin' so fast I can't even really see what he's doin', but he's actually taking this guy _down_ , kicking and punching in very particular spots, where the pieces of armor plating don't come together. The vulnerable spots. And all of a sudden I realize what Mal was doing when he was "tripping" over people—he was lookin' for soft spots, just in case an occasion like this came up. I gotta stop underestimating him.

The two guys who were guarding the airlock jump into the fray—B'sh'k isn't really a fighter, after all—and Jon drags me to the opening. It's really kinda stupid, because neither one of us is gonna leave without Mal—Jon because Mal's a crewmember, and me because Mal's, well, Mal. Two inches, we could jump back onto _Enterprise_ deck plating and be safe. But we both know we aren't going to.

I'm going the other way, actually, hoppin' right into the thick of it. Always wanted to go for a ride on a rhino, I guess, although I doubt I'm doing more than annoying him. Jon at least has the presence of mind to call for back-up before he throws himself in. Not that Mal really needs our help... not that we're able to _be_ of much help, since the Ceratos can basically just swat us aside.

By the time Marcus and his team get here, it's all over. I can tell he's disappointed. I'm winded and kinda bruised, the Captain's winded and kinda bruised, there's three ten-foot rhinos groaning on the deck, and Mal's got G'r'nk up against the wall, hand at his soft throat. If Mal were only taller, G'r'nk's hooves would be dangling above the floor.

"I think you'll find, Captain G'r'nk," Jon says, and the effect is slightly ruined by his gasping, "that humans make very poor pets." Viridians, on the other hand...

"I've come to agree with you, Captain Ar'k'r," G'r'nk gurgles. He sounds remarkably calm. "Thanks for your assistance."

"Anytime," Jon assures him. "Uh, Trip?"

Right. Call off your dog. "Mal! Come on, let him go." Mal holds on a second longer, just to show the Cerato that he doesn't _have_ to do what I say, then releases their captain and jumps back to my side. The three of us waste no time getting back onto our own ship, slamming the airlock, and ordering the Cerato ship to detach and be on its way.

"You're injured," Mal assesses, patting me down.

He's gettin' kinda familiar for public view and I bat his hands away. "I'm fine," I tell him. "Just a few bruises. D—n good show in there, by the way," I add, because let no one say Trip Tucker doesn't know how to show his gratitude.

"Yes, four rhinoceros-people," Jon agrees, wincing a little as he straightens up. "Very impressive."

I know Mal adores the compliments, but he's too stuck up to show it. "Well, if everyone's so perfectly healthy then," he says, hands on his hips, "it's past time for my afternoon snack!"

Jon gives me a look that says, _Typical. So typical._ I give him a look back that says, _Yeah, but what're ya gonna do about it?_ "Come on, then, we'll go to the Mess Hall."


End file.
